
THE IMMORTAL 

*' L URE 



CALE YOUNG RICE 




Class. TS 3^3 5 
Copyright }1"^_ ' 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE IMMORTAL LURE 



THE 

ORTAL LURE 



BY 
CALE YOUNG RICE 

AUTHOR OF 

A NIGHT IN AVIGNON, YOLANDA OF CYPRUS, CHARLES DI 

TOCCA, DAVID, MANY GODS, NIRVANA DAYS, ETC. 




Garden City New York 
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
MCMXI 






ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION' 
INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 



COPYRIGHT, igll, BY GALE YOUNG RICE 
PUBLISHED, FEBRUARY, IQII 



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" Infinite passion, and the pain 
Of finite hearts that yearn." 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 
GlORGIONE I 

Arduin 27 

0-ume's Gods r i 

The Immortal Lu rr 73 



GIORGIONE 



CHARACTERS 

GiORGlONE . . . . A Young Painter 

Aretino . . . . a Dissolute Poet 

Titian Another Painter 

Bellini The Former Master of Giorgione and 

Titian 

GiGiA An old woman sennng Giorgione 

and 

ISOXTA 



GIORGIONE 

Scene: A work-room of Giorgione on the edge of 
the Lagoon in which lie the Campo Santo and 
Murano. It is littered with brushes, canvases, 
casts, etc., and its walls are frescoed indiscrimi- 
nately with saints and bacchantes, satyrs and 
Madonnas, on backgrounds religious or wood- 
land. A door is on the right back; and foliate 
Gothic windows, in the rear, reveal the magic 
water with its gliding gondolas. On a support 
toward the centre of the room is a picture — 
covered, and not far from it, a couch. 
Late Afternoon. 

Giorgione, who has been sitting anguished on 
the couch, rises with determined bitterness. As he 
does so, Bellini enters anxiotisly. 
3 



4 GIORGIONE 

Bellini . Giorgion e ! 

Giorgione (turning). It is you? 

Bellini. Your word came to me, 

In San Lazzario where I labored late, 
And shakes my troubled heart. You will not do this ! 

Giorgione. Yes! 

Bellini. How, my son! her picture! as 

a wanton's! 

Giorgione. Tho it has been till now my adoration! 
The fairest of my dreams and the most holy! 
Yes, by the virtue of all honest women. 
If such there be in Venice, 
I swear it shall be borne by ribald hands 
Thro the very streets. 

Bellini. My son! 

Giorgione. A public thing I 

[Points to picture. 
Fit for the most lascivious! who now 
Shall gaze on what I had beheld alone. 
On what was purer to me than the Virgin ! 
The very pimps and panders of the Piazza 



GIORGIONE 5 

Shall if they will whet appetite upon it, 
And smack their losel lips. 

Bellini. And to what end? 

Giorgione. Her shame! 

Bellini. The deeds of wounded pride 

and love 
Work not so, but fall back upon the doer — 
Or on some other. 

Giorgione. I care not! 

Bellini. Nor have, 

Ever, to heed me! as Aretino, 
Who turns your praise to Titian, has told. 
For your wild will runs ever without curb. 
And I who reared you, as my very own, 
Must pay the fall. 

Giorgione. No! 

Bellini. And the piety 

I would have won you to in the past days 
Is wasted. The Madonnas 
I painted with a heart inspired of Heaven 
You paint with pride. 



6 GIORGIONE 

Giorgione. But with all gratitudel 
Ah yes, believe me, 
And with a rich remembrance! 
For scarce oblivion could wipe from me 
How as a wasted lad I came to V^enice — 
A miserable, patched and pallid waif, 
With but an eye to see and hand to shape! 
You took me from the streets and taught me all 
The old can teach the yoimg, until my name 
Is high in Venice — 
Linked with that of Beauty — 
"Giorgione! our Giorgione!" do they cry 
On the canals, the very gondoliers. 
And in a little while it should have glowed 
Immortal on the breast of Italy, 
As does Apelles on the page of Greece, 
For I was half-divine, until 

Bellini. Until 

A girl whom you had fixed your heart upon 
With boundless folly, you who should have 

lived 



GIORGIONE 7 

With but one passion — that of brain and brush — 
Until she 

Giorgione. Say it! 

Bellini. This Isotta 

Giorgione. Ail 

Whom I had chosen o'er a hundred others 
To soar with! 

To soar and then in wedded peace to prize! 
This false Isotta 
Whom in poverty 

I found, as you found me, and loved to madness. 
This fair Isotta 
Whom I would have made 
All Venice to be a halo for — as were 
Cities of old for queens of sceptred love: 
Until she leaves, departs, forsakes me, goes 
Away, worthless away, from my true arms, 
With Luzzi, a lank boy. 

Bellini. So. And most strange. 

Giorgione. No, nothing a woman does is ever 
strange! 



8 GIORGIONE 

Will they not cloak a lie in innocence, 

A treachery in veiling soft caresses — 

Tho to the Mass unceasingly they fare 

And say like her their aves night and noon? 

Have they a want that wantons not with guile, 

A tear that is not turgid with deceit? 

Are not their passions blown by every wind? 

Have they not all the straying heart of Helen? 

Then why must I, 

Who had in me a hope 

That rivalled Raphael's or Leonardo's, 

Keep, cozened so, that I contemn her shame? 

Bellini. Because she is a woman — whom you 
tempted, 
Tho with all trust to wed her — and you know not 
Whether her going was of shamelessness. 

Giorgione {laughing bitterly). Or whether she 
may not yet return, today. 
And with a heart that is a nymph's, a soul 
That is a nun's, 
Beguile me back to doting? 



GIORGIONE 9 

Whether she may not — 
With that body God 

Might once, deceived, have moulded angels after — ? 
Then flaunt her thralling of me to the world, 
Whose ready lips should laugh where'er we went 
And whisper, "Isotta, there! Giorgione's mis- 
tress! 
Who makes a mocking of him?" 

Bellini. Never! never! 

Only your unrelenting brain would think it. 
For this I know of her, that tho she has 
Deserted you for what must seem to be 
Only a new-foimd passion — 
Yet is she womanly, and did you give her, 
As now you mean, to avid lusting eyes, 
Life would be smitten from her. 

Giorgione. As it should! 

Bellini. And then from you, repentant of her 
fate? 
No, no, my son, I have not seen you rise, 
A planet from the sea, the world's first painter, 



10 GIORGIONE 

To set in this: 

You owe my fathering more. 

And listen, I have brought to you a way 

Of laurels for forgetting. I have come 

With a commission from the Signoria, 

[Takes it from his breast. 

Which names you the chief glory of this city 

And votes you proud permission to adorn 

San Marco's highest altar with perfection. 

Giorgione. And which I spurn, an insult in its 

pity! 

[Flings it from him. 

As they shall learn — these silk and velvet Signors, 

Whose condescending ducats buy the dreams 

Of the immortal! 

Or no! . . . I meant not that — to wound 

a kindness. 

Bellini. Your ways have ever been the ways of 

wounding. 

Giorgione. And to the end must be. {Brokenly) 

For now my hand 



GIORGIONE II 

Is palsied! I can never paint again. 

Colour and shaping light turn in my soul 

To chaos and to blindness — to despair! 

The brush I lift, to sterile pain more loth! 

I yearn and impotence alone arises. 

That picture has dried beauty's vein within me 

And left me . . . Ah! . . . She shall 

atone it! (calls) Gigia! 
Shameless she is and shall be seen it! — Gigia! — 

[Walks bitterly. 
Aretino, who is the tongue of lewdness, 
And Titian, who trips to it, may gloat, 

[Gigia hobbles in. 
But they 

Bellini. Giorgione! you have sent for them? 

Giorgione {to Gigia). Whoever seeks my door 
is bidden — all ! 

Gigia. Yes, Messer Giorgio. 

Giorgione {as she delays). Go. 

Gigia. Before I speak? 

Giorgione. Of what? 



12 GIORGIONE 

Gigia. How can I tell you, if I may 

Not speak? And you should hear. . . {Cross- 
ing herself) It is the plague. 
A whisper is about 
That it has broken out at last in Venice. 

[GiORGiONE staring at her, trembles and seems 
slowly stricken — while his eyes fill as 
with some evil irrecoverable remembrance. 
Bellini {fearing for him). Giorgione! 
Giorgione. Oh! . . . and yet . . . 

nothing ... a dream 
That came to me last night — as if from death. 

Bellini. Then, O my son, it is a premonition, 
A pall against tliis purpose! that you may 
Not let these ribald two — 
Aretino, this poet and depraver. 
And Titian snared within his pagan senses, 
Enter and gaze upon. . . . O boy, you will 

not! 
Despoil the picture, 
Scatter it to the seas, 



GIORGIONE 13 

And vow never again to paint another, 

Tho that would break my heart, but promise me 

[A knocking interrupts, and a voice without calls 
lustily: 
Voice: The gods of paint and passion ever gird 
us! 
Where's Messer Giorgione? Ho! Ho, ho! 

[GiGiA hurries out. 

Giorgione {after a pause, calling). Aretino! 
Aretino. Ai, light of ladies' eyes! 

And with him a better! Shall we sing for entrance? 
{Begins) — A wench I had, 

But where is she — ? 
A-ho! 
Old Gigia, is it? Then we come apace, 

[Enters leeringly with Titian. 

Like satyrs to the piping of Adonis! 

[With irony. 
A health to you, O heaven-born of Venice! 

[To Bellini. 



14 GIORGIONE 

And to you, glorious dauber of Madonnas! 
But, bah! the smell of melancholy! Come, 
What is it? The tale is out about the maid? 
And therefore tears? 

[Laughs, 
Well, by the lids of Venus, Giorgio, 
It serves you well — or Eve was not a woman! 
There were too many ripe for your assay. 
Why, I believe that every damsel's lips 
On the lagoons were pinched with longing for you! 

Titian. Or enough, at least, to send spleen, 
Giorgio, 
Into my eyes. 

Giorgione. They will no more, Titian. 

Aretino. In sooth! for since one wench in all the 
world 
Prefers another, he will play the monkl 
Since she, the amorous sun-kissed Isotta, 
Had charms too fair for otie to satisfy! 
And yet — to choose tliis Luzzi, 
This swaddling acolyte of Innocence, 



GIORGIONE 15 

For her new light-o'-love! to choose him out, 

When, for a whifT, she might have had my arms 

[GiORGiONE quivers. 
O, Titian, by the gods! 

Bellini. Aretino! . . . 

Giorgione. Stay, let him speak, my master, as 
he wills. 

Aretino. I say then, Seraph, of your amorosa, 
That she deceived me — 
That I thought her dreams 
Were chaster than the moon, or by my beard. 
Which is not born, I should have tricked her senses 
Away from you ... if lies and treachery 
And tempting honeyed verses could have done it! 
For an Elysium like her warm round body 
I never looked upon. 

Bellini. Aretino ! 

Giorgione. Peace! he shall speak! for this is 
what should be. 

Aretino. Ai, Messer Bellini, and your age for- 
gets 



i6 GIORGIONE 

That he is well consoled with the dear thought 
That her first joy was his. 

Bellini. Ah! . . . 

Aretino. And that vision — ! 

Why, I have peeped upon her face, no farther. 
But to have seen the beauty he has seen, 
The Aphrodite-dream of loveliness, 
I would have dared virginity's last door. 

Giorgione. Then you shall see it. 

Bellini. My son! 

Giorgione. Yes, tho I die! 

Aretino. How, what is this? 

Giorgione {going to picture). Aretino, Titian — 
You are here, tho there is less than love between us: 
For, pardon, if I say that you sometimes 
Have loathed my triumphs. 

Titian. That is so, Giorgione. 

But with the brush I yet shall equal them. 

Giorgione. You shall surpass them. For my 
last is done. 

Titian. Come, do you jest? 



GIORGIONE 17 

Giorgione. My last, and it is there! 

[Points to picture. 
There that you two whose tongues have been so 

busy 
About the streets with laughing and innuendo, 
From ear to ear with jest and utter joy — 
You, Titian, a sycophant of Fame, 
And you, Arctino, who incarnate lust, 
May know that Giorgione is above you. 
You coveted Isotta with your eyes. 
Now you shall have her as shall all the w^orld! 

[Flings the curtain back from the picture then 
sinks to the couch. 

As they gaze on the unclothed form, Bellini 
turns away, when he sees Isotta enter. 
She is pale and ill, but moves smilingly 
down toward Giorgione, till happening 
to see the picture, she gives a deep cry. 
Giorgione, springing to his feet, dazedly 
beholds her. 
Bellini {speechless till he sees Isotta's pallor). 



i8 GIORGIONE 

Isotta! you are ill! .... O would my breath 
Had never lasted to this evil hour — ! 
Shall I not bring the leech? {when she does not 
answer; to Giorgione) This price has pride! 
[He goes: then Aretino and Titian. The 
curtain falls back. 
Isotta {whose eyes have closed). The flesh of 
women is their fate forever! 
My poor, poor body! all I had to give 
So desecrated. 

Giorgione {hoarsely). Why have you come here? 
Isotta. To see Messer Giorgione — who is brave. 

[Smiles as one shattered. 
To hear Messer Giorgione — who is gentle 
And honourable to women who are weak. 
To — heal Messer Giorgione — then to die! 
Giorgione. Rather to kill! 
Isotta. Why, it may be. If love 

Still leads me, it were best that it be slain. 
Giorgione. The love of a wanton? 
Isotta {slowly). Who beholds her body 



GIORGIONE 19 

Given ... to unabated eyes — yet lives? 
I think it must be so. 

Giorgione. Alluring lies! 

Out of pale lips of treachery but lies! 
You have returned to me, whom you have cursed 
With craving for you, 
With an immortal love, 
Because this lisping Luzzi, 
With whom you fled, weary of falsity, 
Has cast you off. 

Isotta {gently). Kind Luzzi! 

Giorgione. Ah! and blind? 

Not knowing that you now are here again, 
Where you disrobed to my adoring soul, 
But thinking that you wait him with fair eyes 
Of fond expectancy — as once for me ! 
Believing that your breath is beating only 
With ecstasy for him! 

Isotta. He is — but Luzzi! 

Giorgione. And I but Giorgione, smiling quean ! 

[She turns paler. 



20 GIORGIONE 

But Giorgione, a vassal to your sway? 

Back to your orgies I and may Venus, goddess 

Of black adulteries, but not of love, 

Be with them! May your blood, that I believed 

Vestal to all but me, run vile with passions 

As any nymph's of Bacchus! 

May your body, 

That I have painted here, be to all time 

An image of soul-cheating chastity! 

[His words have struck her down — and over- 
whelm him. 
O, I am lost, lost, lost forevermore. 

[Falls into a seat. 

Isotta {at length, from the couch, gathering strength) . 
No, I have come for saving, Giorgione. 
Now I can speak — but there is little time, 
(Strangely) For Night is coming. 

Giorgione (startled to questioning). Isotta? 

Isotta. The still Night, 

With Death's dark Gondola to waft me o'er. 

[Then as he realizes. 



GIORGIONE 21 

Nay, stay, stay! leave me not. There is no help. 
For it must be. . . A voice Beyond has said it. 
And ere I drift out on the darkening ebb 

Giorgione. Isotta! 

Isotta. Peace must be Giorgione's too. 

Giorgione. Speak — yet it cannot be — my heart 
is dead. 

Isotta. Then it shall rise again. — O Giorgione, 
My lover once and lord, could you believe, 
Even tho I went away from you and with 
Another, that unchastity could touch 
This body which had been holy to you? 

Giorgione . Isotta ! 

Isotta. It is true that I deceived you, 

[With mystic fervor. 

True that I went away from you and wed 
Another 

Giorgione. Ah! 

Isotta. And yet it was not Luzzi! 

[As he gazes. 



2a GIORGIONE 

Do you not know? you who so oft have told 

On saintly walls the Magdalen's sad tears? 

Sin, sin had seized me I 

Sin with you to whom 

I gave my body and soul unboundedly. 

We revelled in unwedded ecstasy, 

Laughed in our love over the starred lagoons. 

Sang till the lute was like a thing that lived, 

Danced happy as the fauns and nereids 

That oft you told rae of — 

And clasped and kissed, 

O kissed — until I knew that but one way 

Was left to save my soul, Giorgione, one — 

To wed me with the vows and veil to Christ. 

[Gazes at a crucifix 

Giorgione. Isotta ! 

Isottd. I am His! I fled to Him! 

The Convent opened its grey arms to take me, 
Santa Cecilia of the Healing Heart, 
And Luzzi kindly led me to its door — 
That you might so be foiled of following. 



GIORGIONE 23 

And with long vigils, fasts and penances 
And prayers I sought oblivion of your face. 
Until this illness strangely fell upon me. 
I could not die until you, shriven too .... 

Giorgione. Isotta! My Isottal 

[Falls penitent before her, weeping. 

Isotta (her heart eased). Peace, at last. 

Giorgione (rising). Ah yes! and I am viler than 
the vilest! 
For who remembers not that purity 
Is priceless, ends impoverished of honour. 
And yet . . . there is no wrong irreparable! 
And you must live tho all the angels die — 
Live and be loosed from vows too vainly breathed, 
That wedded we may win again delight! 
Still I am Giorgione, and the sin 
That we have sinned shall be painted away 
With holy pictures . . . 

Isotta. Only the dead are holy, 

Or they who die, tho living, to the world. 

[Sees the picture. 



24 GIORGIONE 

And eyes have looked upon me — 
Hot eyes that burn my body up with shame. 
Farewell, the tide will cool me, the lone wave 
That washes in from Lido to my grave. 

[Looks toward the Campo Santo. 

Giorgione. Isotta! 

Isotla (fainter). Night, the Night! . , . 
Giorgione. O stay! . . . 

Isotta {in a fixed vision). It comes, 

The Gondola! {as if to an unseen Presence) Row on, 
row on. 

[She dies. He sinks beside her stricken and still. 
GiGiA enters. 
Gigia . ]\Iesser Giorgione, one has come to say 

[Sees them, goes near and lifts Isott.\'s hand. 
Then, dropping it with terror. 

The plague! the plague! Ah! 
Giorgione {rising). Woman, is it true? 

[GiGiA flees. 



GIORGIONE 25 

(Mortally moved) 

Isotta, this kiss then of all the kisses 

That I have slain thee with will God who dwells 

In universal chastity forgive. 

[Ee kneels and presses his lips fervently to hers. 

Curtain 



ARDUIN 



CHARACTERS 

Arduin {of Provence) An Alchemist 

Ion His Nephew 

Rhasis An Arab, his attendant and assistant 

Myrrha . . . . a Greek Girl 



ARDUIN 

Time: The Fifteenth Century. 
Place: Egypt. 

Scene : The laboratory of Arduin in a house on Nile 
opposite Cairo. It is a large room on the walls 
of "which my Stic figures of the Hermetic philosophy 
are drawn, together with the zodiac and other 
astronomical signs; and many strange objects, 
animal and mineral, are to be seen placed about. 
In the rear centre is a large sarcophagus. On 
either side broad window openings reveal the Egyp- 
tian night, and one frames the moonlit Sphinx 
and Pyramids. Toward the right front is a furnace 
with alembics, retorts, etc.; right and left are 
doors, and on the left and back another alcove 
before which hang curtains. Lamps burn. 

39 



30 ARDUIN 

Rhasis, who is btisy about the furnace, in a 
troubled manner, lifts a skull and is gazing at 
it, when Ion e7iters suddenly and stops, pale 
with purpose. 

Ion. Rhasis 

RJiasis (starting and looking round) . Young master 
Ion! what is this? 

[Drops the skull. 
Why have you left the city and come here? 
Are you aware what hour you have chosen? 
Ion. That of his dreams. I learned today: yet 

came. 
Rhasis. And wherefore? 

Ion. To restrain calamity, 

Which must await his reasonless belief — 
And to regain his love that I have lost. 

Rhasis. And have not pondered what calamity 
Would fall on you 
Who would not learn his Art, 
But from its heritage to penury turned, 
If here and now he saw you 



ARDUIN 31 

At this hour 

When he believes that he shall raise the dead? 
Ion. His curse; for he would think me come 
to thwart him, 
And that I had forgot whatever wrong, 
Unexpiated still, my father did him; 

[Looks at sarcophagus. 
And yet I will not go, for I have purposed — 
And you tonight shall help me — {pauses) 

Rhasis. Unto what? 

Ion. Forgiveness of my disobedience — 
That may be won from him with Myrrha's face. 

Rhasis. Myrrha's! 

Ion. Which can alone of earthly 

sights, 
If what you tell of his dead wife be true: 
And well you know it is! — He must behold her — 
And hear our pleading. 

Rhasis. At an hour like this! 

Ion. Let her be placed yonder within those 
curtains. 



32 ARDUIN 

While he is mingling here his mysteries, 
And when he 

Rhasis. By the Prophet who is Allah's, 
Myrrha! Within this chamber! and tonight! 

[Ion goes to the door and leads Myrrha in. 
Is there no heed in youth or hesitation, 
But only hurrying want! Do you not know 
He is without there, at this moment, saying 
Unto the seven planets in their spheres, 
The seven incantations against death? 
And that he 

Ion. I know only he must see her. 

Rhasis. And of all nights in the world, only 
tonight ! 

Myrrha. No, Ion! let us go. I fear this place. 
Its strangeness and that still sarcophagus 
Appal me. 

Ion. And make you forget our love, 

And the long bridal-hope of it deferred? 

Rhasis. Young master, she does not, in pen- 
ury too! 



ARDUIN 33 

But pleas tonight would ope no nuptial way. 
Better than you I know it is not wise. 
For ten years is it 
I have dwelt with him 

While he has sought in vain this great Elixir. 
Ten passings of the pilgrims of! to Mecca 
His wife has lain in that sarcophagus, 
Embalmed and waiting, as he thinks, to rise. 
And now, this hour, he hopes that it shall be. 
Ion. And should it, will he not the more forgive 
me? 
Or should it not, then seeing Myrrha's face, 
Myrrha whom you have said is so much like her, 

Will he not 

Myrrha. Ion, no! but might — I fear! 
So fond his grief is and unfaceable! 
Let us return again unto the city 
And to my kindred who will hold us dear. 

[Starting. 
Listen, is it not he? {Rhasis goes to window) 
Take me away! 



34 ARDUIN 

Ion. And have him at the breaking of his dream 
With none near — and our love's desire be lost? 

Myrrha. It will not: let us wait another time! 

Ion. Than this when most your face would 
deeply move him? 
I cannot, and 'twould shame me! for you know 
How dear to him is his dead wife who lies there, 

[Takes her hand. 

And know our severed days! 

And shall we bend the knee to cowardice. 

Which ever has a premonition ready, 

When you who are so like her might tonight 

[She starts back, for Rhasis, exclaiming, 
leaves the mndoio. 

Rhasis. He comes. 

Ion. Now? 

Rhasis. Go: or take this on 

yourselves. 
Ion. Upon me be it ! For there is no rest 
Until his pardon weds us — and I pay him. 



ARDUIN 35 

Rhasis. Then but a word remains, young mas- 
ter, more: 
To tell you — that I fear — lest thro long toil, 
His mind. . . . 
Myrrha. Oh! {recoils) 

Ion. It is not true! ... No Myrrha! no! 
[Takes her in his arms. 
And is ingratitude I scorn to heed. 

[Turns away. 
Come then and by your beauty's likeness win him. 

{He leads her behind the curtains then goes, 
door left. A moment, which leaves Rhasis 
distraught, and Arduin enters. He pauses, 
as if at some presence; then, gazing on the 
sarcophagus, shudders with hope and comes 
down. 

Arduin. The night at last when I again shall 
clasp her 
And banish death to biers beyond the stars! 
RItasis {kneeling). Master! 



36 ARDUIN 

Arduin. Rise up and never 

kneel again! 
For from henceforth 
I shall be lord of life, 
The secret of the phoenix in my hand. 

[Lifts an alembic. 
Gray have I grown in quest of it and old, 
Youthless and as a leper to delight. 
But it has come at last — at last has come! 

[Sets vessel down. 

Rhasis. And I rejoice, master, for I have toiled 
With you these many years — but is it sure? 

Arduin. As the moon is in heaven! as the skies! 

[In an ecstasy. 
For last night I beheld 
In dreams deeper than day how it must be. 
I saw a tomb far-hidden in the earth 
And Life within it 
Mixing salt and sulphur — 
Twin elements 
Of the great trinity. 



ARDUIN 37 

I saw her hands pour out quick mercury 
Upon a bat's wing wrought with hieroglyphics, 
And then I saw her cast in gold and silver 
That melted with strange voice and sudden flame, 
The while she gazed on me most meaningly. 
And then . . . when all was done. . . . 

[The vision consuming him. 
My wife, my Rhea, lit with loveliness 
And as a spirit clad with resurrection, 
Rose up within my dream . . . fair, young 
and glad! . . . 
Rhasis. But, master . . . are dreams true? 
Arduin. Such dreams as these? 

[Kindling. 
Rhasis. Pardon ! I know not — only that you 
say 
Some come of Ophiuchus — 

The demon you have warned me of — who oft 
With thwarting laugh has struck the secret from 

you. . . . 
Many before have followed the mirage 



38 ARDUIN 

Of dreams — but to more thirst: trust not too 

much! 
Arduin. But fear? fear? you are falling from 

me too? 
Like Ion the son of him who . . . you? you 

too? 
At the prime moment? 

Rhasis. No, my master, no! 

But I would spare you pain unbearable. 
Arduin. Ha! and believe — you do? — that all 

wise men 
Of all the world could so have been deceived? 
Believe — do, do? — that she cannot arise? 
Did not great Hermes say of the Elixir 
It should be found — 
And did not Polydos, 

The Greek, chancing upon it, raise his friends 
In battle slain? . . . 
Did not the Jew of Galilee, the Christ, 
Whom even you name Prophet, likewise win it? 

[Peacelessly . 



ARDUIN 39 

Speak! 

Rhasis. Master, yes! . . . But 0! trust 
not too much. 
Wiser, I know, than all Arabia 
Are you — like to Mahomet — were it not 
That you have set within your heart a woman. 
But if, perchance, the Elixir does not prove 

Arduin. Availing? Have not all things pointed 
to it? 
The day she died 
Did I not hear a voice 

That breathed into my brain she should arise? 
And as I waited did a book of wisdom 
Not chance into my hands to show the way? 
Were the first words I read not, In ten years 
The miracle shall come — 
Revealed to you within the land of the Sphinx? 

Rhasis. So read it, so! But 

Arduin. Is this not that land? 

Are not those stones the pyramids that thro 
The ages have stood waiting for this hour — 



40 ARDUIN 

When I shall bring her beauty back , today? 
Is not that face the Sphinx, 
Whose timeless and intemperable meaning 
No man has read in desert, star, or sea. 
But which must be the secret I unsphere? 

Rhasis. O master! 

Arduin. Fail, fail, fail? now to restore her? 
Who died as you shall know, here ere she rises, 
Because my brother — aieh! the father of Ion — 
Who bore as well that name — 
Desiring her, vilely accused her 

Myrrha {involuntarily, behind curtains). Oh! . . 

Arduin {bewildered). Who spoke? It was her 
voice? 

[Rmis to sarcophagus. 

Rhasis. No, master, no! . . . 

Arduin {slowly returning). Fail, fail to bring 
her fairness from the tomb! 
Her face which can alone sow finitude's 
Fell desolation with enverdured dreams 
And fill the ways of the world again with hope? 



ARDUIN 41 

I tell you she eternal must arise — 
Tho God die for it! 

[Begins to gird himself. 
Must! . . . and the hour is now! — 
Venus is in the house of ready Taurus, 
The moon is full, and as I toiled today, 

[Goes to furnace. 
From the alembic a strange cloud arose. 
And once again her face! . . . Prepare! pre- 
pare! 

Rhasis. I will do all you say. But, master, if 

Arduin (immitigably) . No death- word more of 
doubt. It is the power 
Which holds us futile from omnipotence. 
Mete out the sulphur 
Into the alembic 
Of Cleopatra's crystal. — I must see her! 

[Rhasis hastens. 
See her again, my Rhea, as she was, 
When plucking first the poppies of Provence! 
And hear flow from her 



42 ARDUIN 

Words sweeter than Memnon's in the wind of dawn! 
Here's gold and silver {hands them). She shall rise 

and say: 
"Years pale you, pale your brow, my Arduin, 
And touch to gray the treasure of your hair, 
But not Antinous could be so fair 
To me — or wonderful : 
For you have brought me from the cold tomb to 

life! . . . 
The bat's wing then! And to the sarcophagus 

To lift its lid ! for I will wait no longer 

[Takes alembic, as Rhasis obeys, and continues 
invokingly: 
But now, vial of immortality! 
By the presaging of the seven planets. 
And by the searchless sources of the Nile, 
And by the prayers of Christian and of Heathen, 
And by the elements earth, air and fire, 
That hold within their intermingled veins 
The secret of illimitable life — 
By fate and time and God — I here conjure you 



ARDUIN 43 

Bring forth the Elixir which shall make her rise! 

[He pours the ingredients, and quickly fumes 
arise. They clear and a liquid is seen in 
the bottom of the glass. With a cry he 
starts toward the sarcophagus, when 
Myrrha's face — which, excited, has parted 
the curtains — stops him enspelled. Rhasis, 
unnerved, quits the room — leavhig them 
agaze. 
Arduin {at length, as if to a spirit). 
I do not dream? . . . you have arisen? . . . 
Rhea! 

[Starting toward her. 
Arisen ere I touched you? — O fear not! 
For I am Arduin! do you not know me? 

[She trembles speechless. 

wonderful awaking! O ... at last! 
Tho yet the memory of the tomb is on you ! . . . 
This land is Egypt, whither in my grief 

1 brought you, my dead bride! Look on me! see! 

[Stops quickly. 



44 ARDUIN 

But no, not yet! until my youth comes back, 

As now it will, 

Over the sea from France! 

Already passion lifts away the years 

That weight its wings and I am as I was. 

Now gaze upon me, now! Is it not I? 

Myrrha. Sir — ! 

Arduin. Sir! quickly see. For to ray breast 
Again has striving brought you, to my bosom! 
The bitter nights are ended — the blind pits 
Sleepless and infinite. Awake! stare not 
So strangely! press your lii)s in praise to mine, 
Your breast upon my breast! . . . Delay you 
still? 

Myrrha. O sir — ! 

Arduin. See, see! the years have been too long. 

[Clasps her, dropping alembic. 
My arms have waited an infinitude. 

[She struggles. 
Do you not now remember with my lips 



ARDUIN 45 

To yours, the brimming beauty of our youth? 

Myrrha. Release me! 

Arduin. Awake and know me! It is I! 

Your lover Arduin whom once you wooed: 
Whose every word was to you as a wind 
Of God! whose every kiss. . . . Do you 
not see? 

Myrrha. No, no! I'm not your love — 

Arduin. Not — ? You uprisen? 

Has the tcmb treachery to change the soul? 
Ye skies, must I go mad now at this moment 
When I have brought her back from destiny? 
Not mine? . . , Awake! Oblivion enthralls 
you. 

[Suddenly starting from her. 
Or is it that there in the grave, another — ? 

Myrrha. No, no ! but — 

Arduin. Ha, then! if not — if it be 

not — 
Is it that here returned you wish another? 
You who so gaze upon my goaded brow 



46 ARDUIN 

And face grown old with toil to conquer death? 
O youth ruthless to age! e'en tho its furrows 
Were got for your delight! — Ingratitude! — 
Have I so hungered thro long years to pluck 
A flower of Hell back to the light! . . . No, 

No! 
It cannot be! . . . You shall be mine! 
Myrrha (in terror). Sir, sir! 

Ardiiin. Mad will I be, as they have thought me, 
mad 
In holding that which I have given life. 

Myrrha. But you mistake! ... I am not 
what you think. 

Hear me, for I love one who 

Arduin. Is not — I? 

[.45 to invisible judges. 
You hear her say it? 

Myrrha. O, I love but Ion, 

Your — 
Arduin. Ion, my brother! Then, God! it was 
true, 



ARDUIN 47 

And being true thy Heaven is but a brothel ! 

She was unfaithful to me, as he said! 

And in the other world has met and clasped him! 

Myrrha. No, let me speak! 

Arduin. And spurn me more with it? 

Shall I abide mockery like a mummy! 
Ha-ha! {A laugh that racks him.) 
Years but to hear her say that she loves him! 
To see her come back from the grave, where she 
Has still embraced him, still — and to my face, 
On which the rage of sleepless toil is wrought, 
Tell me. . . . 

She shall die for it! God, whose stars 

Are vermin, she shall die! 

Myrrha. O! 

Arduin (frenziedly) . Die, die, die! 

As trustless women should: until no womb 
Of lies is left in the world! Die, and be shut 
Again into the curst sarcophagus 
From whence I brought her . . . 

Myrrha {in his grasp) . Sir ! — help ! — sir ! do not ! 



48 ARDUIN 

0, I will love you! 

Arduin. Liar! and turn from him 

Whom you betrayed me for — and swear again 
False love to me? Then ... in the tomb 
do it! 

[Begins to choke her. 
Myrrha. O ! 
Arduin. Aieh! cry out to him! will he 

not help you? 
Myrrha. Ion! 

Arduin. That word withering in your throat 

Shall stale you past all hope of resurrection. 

[Strangles her — and then looks around. 
So, it is dgne. . , . And now, back to your 

tomb. 
Which I will bury in the desert sands 
So deep that not eternity can find it. 

[Begins to draii' her totvard sarcophagus. 
And yet (stopping stricken) all is not well . . . 
I now could weep. 

[With lone anguish. 



ARDUIN 49 

I know not wherefore — only that my heart 
Is wounded and seems bleeding o'er the hours 
That I must live! . . . O Rhea! ... 0, 
my love! 

[Strangely kissing her. 
Do you not hear the nightingale that sang 
The song of our betrothal in Provence? 
It sits upon. . . . 

[Changing again. 

Accursed face! accurst! forevermore! 

Within the tomb lie (dragging her) blind, deaf, 

motionless, 
Until — 

[Looking into the coffin becomes transfixed, 
while Myrrha's limp body slips sloicly 
from his arms. He gazes at her, at his 
wife, and tries to understand. But can- 
not, and so, standing long troubled, moans: 

I am not well; perchance Rhasis will come 
And tell me what it is that I desired. 



so ARDUIN 

Men should not toil o'ermuch; there's madness 
in it. 

[Then seeing Myrrha's face and starting 
from it wildly: 
Rhasis! Rhasis! Rhasis! . . . Oh-oh-oh-oh! 
[Runs madly off right, as Ion and Rhasis 
enter left. They look around, see Myrrha 
and rush to her — with a cry. 

Curtain 



0-UME'S GODS 



CHARACTERS 

0-UmE A Samurai Girl 

Ama Her Servant, an old woman 

Sanko A Young Samurai 

and 
A Young Jesuit Priest 



0-UME'S GODS 

Time: The Sixteenth Century. 
Place: Japan. 

Scene: A room in the house of 0-Umi in a province 
near the sea. Its shoji, or sliding paper doors, 
open in the rear upon a wistaria arbor over- 
hanging a river, upon which lighted lanterns, 
sent forth on the night of the Feast of the Dead, 
are dimly floating; while the moon above gleams 
upon the pale distant snow-cone of Fujiyama. 
The room with its deep straw mats and walls 
delicately portrayed with pine and bamboo has 
a paper-paned door on the right leading to a 
garden, and is lighted by andon — one beneath a 
shrine to Buddha on the left wall, and one to 
the left centre where 0-Ume and Ama are sitting 
Si 



54 0-UME'S GODS 

on their heels, constrained, foreboding and vcri^- 
ing to2c<ard inevitable words. 

A ma {at Icn'^th). Down to the sea! the seal 
Oh the dead! 
Do they not seem 
On the night air to hover? 
There by the Hghts 
Are not their spirits present? 
The lights Ht for them? 

[0-Ume is silent. 
All our ancestors are they! 
Fathers and mothers 
Of many lives back ! 
They hear us speaking, 
They hear from the Buddha-shrine 
There on the wall. 
They see us thinking. 

[Meaningly. 
They see in our hearts! 
0-UnU {li'ho trembles). Be silent! silent! 



0-UME'S GODS 55 

Ama (bowing but continuing). They know if we 
care for them — 
Know as the wind 
That visits all shoji, 
Know as the night 
That searches all places. 
Alas for the son 
Who does not honor them! 
And for the daughter 
Who does not cherish them! 
They shall 

0-Umd. Be silent! 

[A pause. 

Ama. Alas for the daughter! 

0-Umh {who rises disturbedly) . 
The lips of the old 
Are like leaves dying — 
Leaves of Autumn 
That ever flutter! 

^^alks about, 

Atna. And a girl's mind 



56 0-UME'S GODS 

Is like the dawn mist — 
Knowing not M-hither 
To rest or wander — 
Until, perchance, 
It clings to Fuji, 
To Fuji mountain, 
Lord of the air! 
The mind of a girl . . , 
And what is 0-Ume's? 

0-Ume. It is 0-Ume's! 

Ania. 
Not Sanko's! . . . 
But were I she, 
0-Ume the fair, 
0-Ume the mist 
Of happy karmas, 
Sanko should be 
My Fuji mountain. 
Him would I cling to, 
Nor would I hunger 
To stray far from him 



straying! 
. . whose? 

Ai! 



0-UMfe'S GODS 57 

With a white priest! 
To stray far from him 
To foreign gods 
That hang on a cross. 

[Again bowing. 
Is he not strong? 

O'Umi. Be silent! 

[To herself, troubled. 
The lips of the old! 
The lips of the old! 

A ma. Is he not brave? 

0-Ume. I care not. 

A samurai is he — 
One whose sword is his soul. 

Ama. And should his tongue be 
Like that of the other, 
The priest of the pain-god? 

[Immovably. 
Is he not kind? 
0-Umi. He is kind. 



S8 0-UME'S GODS 

Ama. Kind! as 0-Ume is cruel! 

0-Umd. No, but as men are, 
Wanting women: 
Yet not once so was he! 
For as children 
We caught together 
The June-night fire-flies 
Out by the shrine of Jiso. 

Ama. And then he loved you, 
And ever has loved you. 
And faithful is he! 

O-Utne. Ai, and terrible! . . , 

Ama. Terrible only 
Because 0-Ume 
Turns from her fathers 
And from the gods. 
She sees their soul-ships 
Sail to the sea — 
The lights lit for them, 

[Motions mthout. 
And yet she offers 



0-UME'S GODS 59 

No cakes of welcome — 
None of farewell! 
No prayer to Buddha, 
Lotus-loving, 
And none to Kwannon 
Who is all mercy. 
But inward, inward 
She turns her eyes 
To see this stranger, 
Priest of the Christ-god. 
Outward, outward. 
Ever she gazes 
And ever listens, 
Ever, for him! . . . 
Oh false, false one! 
False to the dead — 
False to Sanko! . . . 

0-Umh {more distressedly) . The words of the old 
Are like the leaves, 

[Her voice breaks. 
Like Autumn leaves 



6o 0-UME'S GODS 

That ever flutter. 

Ama. And those of the young 

0-Umt {becoming distraught). Oh will she hush 
not! . . . 
Will this servant, 
Whom my mother 
Dying left me, 
Waste ray heart so? 

[Weeps in her sleeve. 
Sanko I fear, 
And fears of many 
Worlds crowd round me — 
Many karmas 
Of pain and passion, 
Births and rebirths. 

Ama. And 'tis because 
This evil priest 
Stands in the door of your heart. 

0-Umh. Will you revile himl 

Ama. Cursed be he! 

0-Umt. Ama! 



0-UME'S GODS 6 1 

Ama. I pray it! 

[Rises slowly. 



And curst he shall be. 

For, O blind one, 
By him blinded, 
Do you not know 
The people have heard 
How he has bid you 
Cast away from you 
The gods of your house? 
The blessed Buddha 
And all the tablets 
Kept, ancestral? 
Ai, they have heard 
And tonight have risen! 
This night of the dead 
They have gone forth, 
With Sanko to lead them 
Gone to tear down 
The house of the priest ! 



[0-Umd stares trembling. 



6a 0-UME'S GODS 

Gone to destroy 

The image he worships! 

Gone to 

0-Umb {stricken). Ama! 

[Shrinks from her and then speaks betrayed. 
Never is there 
Trust in any? 
Only faith that fades? 
This was known — 
But kept from me, 
Kept in silence, 
Kept for Sanko? . . . 
O lord Buddha, 
Thou, or Christ, 

Is there peril? 

[Turns on her. 
You have done ill! 

Ama. I have done well. 

0-Umd. 111! and ill shall come to youl 
For do you think 
So to prevent me 



0-UME'S GODS 63 

From my fate-way? 

No, I will find it! 

The Buddha and all 

The tablets ancestral 

Will I take down from the wall, 

And from me cast them 

Into the river. . . 

They shall float down to the sea. 

[Turns and goes to shrine. 
Ama. 0-Ume! 0-Ume! 

[Catching at her kimono. 
The gods forsaken 
Will pardon never! 
The gods — and the people! 
You will become 
Eta, an outcast, 
From them driven away. 
0-Ume! 

[The girl takes the shrine. 
Remember your father 
Dead, and your mother. 



64 0-UME'S GODS 

They are hovering 
Round your fingers, 
Faint, ofif ended! 
Will you pause not? 

[When 0-Um^ continues. 
Ah for Sanko! for Sanko! 

[Runs calling to door. 
Sanko! Sanko! 

[0-Ume stops motionless. 
Sanko! . . . 
0-Ume (after a pause). He waits then there? 
A Voice (without). Ama! (nearer) Ama! . . . 
[Sanko enters from the garden, dishevelled 
and breathless, but controlled. As he 
does so 0-Ume drops the shrine and the 
image falls out. 
Sanko. 0-Ume! 0-Ume! 

[Ama goes quickly out. 
0-Ume (again motionless). Honourable friend! 

[With polished anger. 
You dwell in my garden? 



0-UME'S GODS 65 

And is my house 
Even as your house? 

Sanko. Be pleased to pardon! . . . 

0-Ume. And you conspire here 
With Ama against me? 

Sanko. 0-Ume knows 
The samurai's honour. 

0-Ume. 0-Ume thought so, 
But does no longer! 

Sanko. Ah the plum-blossom! 
Then it too 
Has thorns and poison? 

0-Ume. Yes, for the hand of Sanko! 
Knowing the deed 
From whence he comes. 
Knowing that . . . 

[Breaks of, tensely. 

Where is the priest's house? 

Sanko (angrily). Cast in the river! 

0-Umh. Ai, for I see 
The blood on your hand 



66 0-UME'S GODS 

From the torn rafters! 

Red, red blood 

Of a deed of fury. 

So 1 tell you, 

Samurai rude, 

Not for one life. 

Even for one, 

Will I be yours. 

Please ... to leave me. 

{He looks at his hand and is going. 
And yet . . . {as he stops) . . . not thus! 

[She struggles. 
The priest would bid me 
Bind up your wound. 
And you were once 
Sanko my friend! — 
Put forth your hand! 

[He does so. 

The blood 

Sanko {with sudden fierceness) . The blood is his! 
[As she falls back with a cry. 



0-UME'S GODS 
His! I have slain him! 

And did his ghost 

Not come here flitting? 

Coldly flitting? 

Here with moaning 

Does it not hang 

Upon the roof-tree 

Hungering for you? 

He lay in the dark — 

One lay with him — 

One who escaped to the river. 

But him I slew 

That you might never 

Turn from the Buddha 

And from your fathers; 

Turn dishonoured 

Of all who greet you. 

0-Ume (speech coming at last). 
Ah! A-hi! Slain! . . . 
It cannot be! 



67 
[Mockingly. 



68 



0-UME'S GODS 



Sanko {drawing a bloody sword). 
And is this wet with dew? 

0-Unie. O let it pierce 
Your own heart, samurai! 
For you shall never 
Again know peace. 
I will pray to 
The lord of Nippon, 
To the Shogun — 
Who gave entrance 
Here to the Christ-priest. 
Nay, I will die 
Myself that ever 
You may be hated 
By your own heart. 



I will cast 

Myself to the soul-world 

And bid the dead 

To bring you evil ! 

Then the priest shall. . 



[Starts toward river. 



0-UME'S GODS 69 

[Breaks off — for standing in the arbour is the 
priest, pale and spectral. He has come 
up to the steps from the river. At the sight 
Sanko plucks her back, as if from a ghost. 
A pause, then the priest speaks sacro- 
sanctly. 
The Priest. The Christ looks on you, 

[Lifts a crucifix. 
You, a murderer — 
Tho it is not 
I you have murdered. 



One slept with me, 
A gentle servant, 
Slept in my cloak . . 

The Christ looks on you. 
He will forgive you. 

Sanko {recovering). Priest! 



[Sanko gazes. 



you have slain him. 
[Steps forward. 



[A pause. 



70 


0-UME'S GODS 






The Priest. 


Forgive 


you. 






[Holds crucifix 


toward 


him 


Sanko. By 


the eight million 






Gods, he mocks me! 







[Dashes it to floor. 
And shall perish 
Or go from this village! 

The Priest. Aye . . . but only 
When goes this maiden 
Whom you would hold 
Still to her idols. 
She must follow 
The Cross of Heaven. 

Sanko. She shall follow 
O priest, but me. 

The Priest. Murderer, pause! . . . 
There is a Hell 
Where the lost burn 
Even as say your sutras. 

[Sanko lifts his sword. 
Pause! and strike not! 



0-UME'S GODS 71 

The smitten Christ 



No longer holds 

My hands from strife. 



[Towers over him. 



0-Ume, I bid you 

Now cast away 

The gilded gods you have worshipped. 

Sanko. And I forbid 
0-Ume move to. 

0-U me. {heedless of either) And I, 0-Ume, 
O'er whom you quarrel, 
And whom you tear 
Twixt Christ and Buddha, 
I, 0-Ume, will end it. 

[Lifts the Buddha from the floor, and the 
crucifix, over her head. 
Be all the gods forsaken — 
Even as these! 

[Goes to river and casts them in. Then meets 
their horror with ever increasing passion. 
Be all! 



72 0-UME'S GODS 

And be you gone 

Forevermore! 

For if again 

I see your faces, 

If again 

They grieve my hours, 

If again 

While Fuji stands there — 

The river shall gulf me, too. 

I swear it by the dead. 

[They look at her awed, then go slowly, silently 
out. She sinks on her heels, hands folded, 
and stares before her. The lights on the 
river drift on. 

Curtain 



THE IMMORTAL LURE 



CHARACTERS 

VlSHWAMYA . . . A Renowned Ascetic 

RiSHYAS His Son, a Young Saint 

SuNANDi . ... An Old Wo7nan of the Court of the 

Rajah of Anga 
KoiL A Young Girl of the Court 



THE IMMORTAL LURE 

Time: The antiquity of India. 

Scene: Before the hermitage of Vishwamya and 
RiSHYAS, in a forest near the Ganges. It is 
an open space spread with kusa-grass and over- 
hung with trees — the hertnitage itself being a 
cell constructed of earth and of hanging roots 
of the banyan, and having by it an altar before 
which lies a deer -skin. Glimmering lights and 
running water penetrate the shades, whose 
sacredness is soon disturbed by the appearance 
of SuN.\NDi, wantonly compelling Koil, with 
alternate harshness and wheedling, to enter with 
her. 



75 



76 THE IMMORTAL LURE 

Sunandi {peering about). The place, my jewel- 
bird! the place for it! 
Under these boughs of peepul and asoka 
The young saint dwells 
With his restraining sire, 
Singing the Vedas morning, eve and noon, 
And they are gone somewhither now in the wood 
To gather fruit for sacrifice, and flowers. 

\With a leer. 
But he, the boy, will soon return, my pretty. 
Koil {whom she has released). And you have 
drawn me from the city here 
To break into his holy breast with passion? 
To dance and sing and seize him? 
I you have taught the wiles of winning men, 
As the cobra-charmer teaches, 
Must lure him from his saintly innocence, 
And with the beauty I was born unto 
Must tangle him? . . . 
You, O Sunandi, are an evil woman, 
To lead me to it! 



THE IMMORTAL LURE 77 

Sunandi. And you talk as flies talk! 
Who know not that the gods sow food or famine. 

[Harshly. 

I tell you that great Indra of the skies 

Is wroth with us 

And will not send us rain, 

So wisest Brahmins vow — 

Until this boy, 

This saintly one, is brought unto the Raja! 

Are we to die because not otherwise 

Than with alluring now we can appease them? 

[Leering again. 

And why are women fair, my cunning Koiil, 

But to tempt men, then when they seek to take us 

Ko'il. Simandi! 

Sunandi. It is so, unwitted girl! 

Be silent then 
And do what I command. 

{Wheedling again. 



78 THE IMMORTAL LURE 

But it will be sweet doing, beamy Koil, 

For the young saint 

Is fairer than the god-born, 

His body like warm gold and lotos-lithe — 

Made for the wants that tremble in your heart. 

And when your eyes rest on him they will kindle 

Like passion-stars. 

Koil. And burn away his peace — 

Which is the pearl 
Of sainthood thro all worlds! 
Unless his father, strange and terrible, 
And mighty thro austerities — one whose 
Curse were as heavy as an hundred births — ! 

let us trust it not! So young a saint 
Should be the holy mate of solitude. 

1 would not have him gaze upon me so. 
For he is innocent of love, nor ever 

As yet has looked upon a woman's face. 

Sunandi. Then may he loathe you if he does 
not! for 
Only in woman's faces is there beauty 



THE IMMORTAL LURE 79 

And who beholds not beauty is as dead. 

[Starts. 

But ha? 'tis he? 
No, only parakeets, 
Chattering as you chatter, idle girl! 
Who ever were resistant to my teachings! 
I tell you chirp no more these chastities! 
If you come back to the Raja 
And without him. 
Know you what then will happen? 
KoU. I know not. 

[Hears a voice. 

Nor care not. I will return. 

Sunandi. Stop, girl. 

Ko'il. I will not. 
.All others will I tempt, but 

Sunandi {holding her). Him will love\ 

[RiSHYAS slowly approaches, chanting. 

And you were suckled at the breast of fortune 
To be the first so fair a saint shall look on. 



8o THE IMMORTAL LURE 

Use well your charms — and chain him with en- 
chantment. 

[Sees the girl is enthralled by the voice and goes 
into wood. Rishyas soon enters opposite, 
laden and singiiig: 
Spirit of the risen sun! 
Now returns the offering-hour. 
Fruit I bring to you and flower, 
Here receive them, O great — 
[Breaks of, at sight of her, and the offerings 
fall slowly from his arms. 
Koil (as they gaze long and tremblingly). 

saint, is it peace with you, and is all well? 
And have you roots and fruit enough for food; 
And have you joy in singing holy Vedas 
Here in this leafy-hearted hermitage? 

Rishyas. O radiant one, yes — all is godly well. 
But whence are you? 
And whither do you go? 

1 have dwelt only here, and not before 
Have I beheld so fair a vision fall — 



THE IMMORTAL LURE 8i 

Even from skies where wing the Apsaras. 

KoU. I am not fair, O son of Vishwamya, 

[Timidly. 
But I have come from very far away. 

Rishyas (quickly). And I have oflfered you no 
laving- water 
For hands and feet, 
Nor any fruit and herbs! 
Will you not sit upon this mat of kusa, 
Or on this skin of the wild antelope. 
And let me loose your sandals? — O sweet saint, 
For saint so bright an one must be ! — it will 
Be dear to touch and tend you! 
For in this place I have beheld no other — 
Only my father, 
Who is old and mighty 
In meditations he would have me mind. 
But you are fair as well. Will you not sit? 

Koil. No, pious one, it is not meet for me 
To touch the holy water — yet I thank you. 

Rishyas. Not meet for you? 0, unto one who is 



82 THE IMMORTAL LURE 

So beautiful, are not all things most meet? 

Better are you, I know, than all the devas. 

And tho for but a moment I have seen you, 

I fain would follow 

The holy vows you follow. 

For you I would do all things. When I gaze 

Upon you all my body is as fire 

Upon the altar when I sacrifice. 

Will you not eat or drink? 

Ko'il. Not at your hands. 

But see, O holy one, here are rare cakes. 
Brought with me from afar, and here is soma, 
Sparkling and ready with divinity 
To lift whoever drinks of it to joy. 
Drink you with me! 

Rishyas. O gladly will I; give it. 

\Takes the flask; drinks deeply. 
A wine of wonder is it and of wisdom. 
For now it makes you seem even more fair 
Than first you were. 
O let me tend about you. 



THE IMMORTAL LURE 83 

And let me wreathe your brow and limbs with 
flowers. 

[Takes some and entwines them over her. 
Ko'il {trembling). And you are beautiful. So I 
will weave 
Flowers upon you too. And see, and see, 
0, Rishyas, see, 
For I will dance to you — 
The dance of all the dreamers in the world! 

[Unbinds her body-doth and begins to dance 
— slowly at first then more alluringly, 
as he follows her, marvelling. Then, at 
length she stops dose up to him and 
murmurs: 
Does it not fill your heart, Rishyas, 
With longing? 

Rishyas. Yes, yes, yes. And with desire, 
I know not why, to lay my lips to yours! 
Then life, it seems, would burst all ill that binds it. 
[Instinctively; clasping her. 
Oh this is sweeter than all other joys 



84 THE IMMORTAL LURE 

Of holiness that I have ever known. 
Your voice is like to piping of the koils 
That play in spring. 

Koil. And Koil am I named. 

Risky as. And what is this I feel for you, O wise 
one? 
In skies from whence you come, what is its name? 
So pure are you that surely you can tell me? 

Koil. O holy one, the people call it love. 

Risky as. Then is love better than all other bliss 
My father's meditations ever bring. 
And I will seek thro all the lapse of lives 
To hold you thus. 
And have your arms about me. 
As vines about the asoka clingingly. 
Happy am I that you have found me out, 
And never shall you leave me. 

Kofi. No — forever! 

[More passionately. 
But unto the city you shall go with me 
And there with Brahmin rites be made my husband. 



THE IMMORTAL LURE 85 

Rishyas. Which is — I know not what — yet 
will I be 
Husband and more to you. For now it seems 
That not the tiger in his jungle-might, 
Nor any incarnation terrible, 
Could tear you from me. 

Ko'il. Then come quickly, now, 

And I will be for you a champa-flower. 
Swung sweetly and forever to your breast. 
And often will I dance for you and sing 
And love you, Rishyas, as a deva-queen! 
Come quickly, one is waiting in the wood 
To guide us. 

Rishyas. Yes, O yes! {remembering) But stay! 
my father ! 
First I will tell him I have won this wisdom. 

Kotl. No, no! 

Rishyas. Yes! {calls) Father! father! 

Kotl {in terror). Rishyas, no! 

But come, come with me quickly. 

Rishyas {astonished). Do you fear? 



86 THE IMMORTAL LURE 

Koil. He is so old! . . . You guess not what 
you do. 
Haste, or he will forbid. 

Rishyas. You know him not. 

For I will tell him you are a holier saint 
To guide my steps, 
Then will he bid me go. 
Ho! father! ho! 

Vishwamya {heard of). My son, you call? I 

come. 
Koil. O, I must flee — 
Rishyas {dazed). I do not understand. 
Koil. Sunandi! Speak, Sunandi! — Ah, he comes. 
[Vishwamya enters atid seeing her stops 
amazed. Sunandi enters behind unseen. 
Deep suspense. 
Rishyas {uncomprehendingly) . Do you see, father, 
I have found one here 
Holy, and fairer than the Apsaras. 
And I shall follow her, she is some goddess. 
For I desire only to be with her, 



THE IMMORTAL LURE 87 

And she has taught me this desire is love. 
O and I love her, 
And tho yet I know 
Not well what miracle love is in me, 
Yet it is better than this hermitage. 
For it has made me seem. . . . But what 
burns in you? 

Vishwamya. My son, you are beguiled. Let 
go her hand 
That leads you on to ruin. Do you not 
Behold what manner of creature you so clasp? 

Rishyas. Yes, yes — a deva! 

Vishwamya. Deva! This is a woman, 

And women like the wind are full of wiles. 
And tempt saints to abandon Swerga's rest. 
He who would rule his mind has naught with them. 
Let go her hand and send her away. 

Rishyas {amazed). Away! 

Never shall she go from me and without me. 
If women are evil, as you say, she is not, 
Therefore she is no woman. 



88 THE IMMORTAL LURE 

Vishwamya. O vain boy! 

In passion's jungle! Break from her at once! 

Rishyas. I will not. Her I worship, holily. 
And she has given me a drink of heaven 
That has diffused deity in my limbs. 

Vishwamya. And death, and an eternity of 
births! — 
These flowers {on his neck) and her feigning have 
bewitched you! 

[Seizes them. 
I tear them off and trample them to earth. 

Koil. Rishyas! Rishyas! 

Rishyas. Be not afraid, my Koil; 

He is my father 
And he knows you not. 
For did he, he would clasp you, as I clasp. 
Or it may be that he is little pleased 
Because I find you holier than he. 

father, peace. Control your mind. Farewell. 

1 go with her. 

Vishwamya. Beguiled boy! you shall not. 



THE IMMORTAL LURE 89 

Thro all these years I have not, from its lair, 
Unloosed black anger. 
But this evil one 

And your desire to follow ways of flesh 
Compel me. Come, come from her! 
Rishyas. I will never. 

Vishwamya. Then must I drag you — and drive 
her away. 

[Strikes Koil. 
Away, lust-thing! away! 

Rishyas. Oh, oh! Oh, oh! 

[In horror. 
A demon enters into you and dupes you 
To strike her thus, a holy one. Restrain! 
Vishwamya. No, tho I slay her! 
Rishyas. Slay? O wickedness! 

[Seizes up wood of sacrifice. 
Must I beat oflf your hands? — Touch her no more. 
Vishwamya. Wild- vaunting boy! the drink and 
this vile girl 
Have maddened you. {To Koil) Away! 



90 THE IMMORTAL LURE 

Rishyas. Call her not vile! 

Vishwamya. Viler is she than sin! 

[Again strikes her. 
Rishyas {uncontrollably). You do a death-deed. 
[Falls on him with the weapon and fells him 
quickly to the ground — then recoils with a 
cry. The old man strives vainly to rise. 
Ko'il. Oh, oh! — what have you done! 
Vishwamya {mortally hurt). Slain . . . slain 
his father! 
And lost enlightenment . . . and peace 
. . . forever! 

[After a struggle, terribly. 
But not to gorge upon the fruit of sin! 

[Turning on Koil. 
The curse of bitter karmas be upon you! 
May you be born a worm and crawl in slime, 
A serpent thro ten score of lives, and slough 
Your skin in hideousness and hate and horror! 
Koil. Oh, oh! 
Vishwamya. At every death may you despair 



THE IMMORTAL LURE 91 

Of ever acquiring merit! 
Rishyas {terrified). Father I 
Vishwamya {to him). Aye! 

[His strength failing. 

For love, blood-guilty boy, the love which she 
Has slipped into your heart, is the curse of the 

world, 
The immortal lure of all the generations ! 
Your arms have ached with it about her body, 
But know that in the city whence she came 
All evil men feel in their hearts this ache. 
And that you may escape from it, know this: 
Not your arms, yours alone, have been entwined 
About this poison-flower — but, perchance, 

[Sinking back. 
The arms of many. 

Rishyas {starting painedly). What is it he means? 

[With emotions he does not understand. 

Koil, what has he said? 

Koil. let me go! 



92 THE IMMORTAL LURE 

Rishyas. The arms of many? that can not be true? 
[Tortured by half-born thoughts. 
0, have I fallen into demon-snares? 
Is beauty not the bloom of piety? 
Speak. 
Ko'il. I would go! 

Rishyas. Pain! only darker pain! 

Kotl {at length overwhelmed). I am not holy — 
nor am I pollution! 
But only one sent hither — 0, the gods 
Bid us to sin, then fell us with calamity! 

[Hurries weeping off with Sunandi, who has 
stood in terror. Rishyas stands dazed, 
then comprehension dawns upon him and 
he falls by his father^ s body in a storm of 
anguish. 



THE END 



THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK 



MANY GODS 

By 

CALE YOUNG RICE 

THESE poems are flashingly, glowingly 
full of the East. . . . What I 
am sure of in Mr. Rice is that here 
we have an American poet whom we may 
claim as ours." The North American Review 
{William Dean Howells). 

"Mr. Rice has the gift of leadership, . 
and he is a force with whom we must reckon." 
The Boston Transcript. 

. . . "We find here a poet who strives 
to reach the goal which marks the best that 
can be done in poetry." The Book News 
Monthly (A. S. Henry). 

"When you hear the pessimists bewailing 
the good old time when real poets were abroad 
in the land ... do not fail to quote 
them almost anything by Cale Young Rice, 
a real poet writing to-day. ... He has 
done so much splendid work one can scarcely 
praise him too highly." The San Francisco 
Call. 

"'In Many Gods' the scenes are those of 
the East, and while it is not the East of 
Loti, Arnold or Hearn, it is still a place of 



brooding, majesty, mystery and subtle fasci- 
nation. Iheie IS a temptation to quote 
such verses for their melody, dignity of form, 
beauty ot imagery and height of inspiration." 
2 he Chicago Journal. 

"'Love's Cynic' (a long poem in the vol- 
ume) might be by Browning at his best." 
Pittsburg Gazette-Times. 

"This is a serious, and from any standpoint, 
a successful piece of work ... in it 
are poems that will become classic." Passaic 
(New Jersey) News. 

"Mr. Rice must be hailed as one among 
living masters of his art, one to whom we may 
look for yet greater things." Presbyterian 

Advance. 

"This book is in many respects a remark- 
able work. The poems are indeed poems." 
The Nashville Banner. 

"Mr. Rice's poetical plays reach a high 
level of achievement. . . . But these 
poems show a higher vision and surer mastery 
of expression than ever before." The London 
Bookman. 

Net, $1.2^ (postage 12c.) 



A NIGHT IN AVIGNON 

By 

CALE YOUNG RICE 

Successfully produced by Donald Robertson 

IT IS as vivid as a page from Browning. 
Mr. Rice has the dramatic pulse." 
James Huneker. 

"It embraces in small compass all the 
essentials of the drama. New York Saturday 
Times Review {Jessie B. Rittenhouse) . 

"It presents one of the most striking 
situations in dramatic literature and its 
climax could not be improved." The San 
Francisco Call. 

1 "It has undeniable power, and is a very- 
decided poetic achievement." The Boston 
Transcript. 

"It leaves an enduring impression of a 
soul tragedy." The Churchman. 

"Since the publication of his 'Charles di 
Tocca' and other dramas, Cale Young Rice 
has justly been regarded as a leading Ameri- 
can master of that difficult form, and many 
critics have ranked him above Stephen 
Phillips, at least on the dramatic side of his 
art. And this judgment is further confirmed 
by 'A Night in Avignon.' It is almost in- 
credible that in less than 500 lines Mr. Rice 
should have been able to create so perfect a 



play with so powerful a dramatic effect." The 
Chicago Record-Herald {Edwin S. Shumayi) 

"There is poetic richness in this brilliant 
composition; a beauty of sentiment and 
grace in every line. It is impressive, metri- 
cally pleasing and dramatically powerful." 
The Philadelphia Record. 

"It offers one of the most striking situa- 
tions in dramatic literature." The Louisville 
Courier-Journal. 

"The publication of a poetic drama of the 
quality of Mr. Rice's is an important event 
in the present tendency of American litera- 
ture. He is a leader in this most significant 
movement, and 'A Night in Avignon' is 
marked, like his other plays, by dramatic 
directness, high poetic fervor, clarity of 
poetic diction, and felicity of phrasing." 
The Chicago Journal. 

"It is a dramatically told episode, and the 
metre is most effectively handled, making 
a welcome change for blank verse, and greatly 
enhancing the interest." Sydney Lee. 

"Many critics, on hearing Mr. Bryce's 
prediction that America will one day have a 
poet, would be tempted to remind him of 
Mr. Rice." The Hartford {Conn.) Courant. 
Net 50c. {postage 5c.) 



YOLANDA OF CYPRUS 

A Poetic Drama by 

CALE YOUNG RICE 

MINNIE MADDERN FISK says: "No 
one can doubt that it is superior 
poetically and dramatically to Ste- 
phen Phillips' work," and that Mr. Rice 
ranks with Mr. Phillips at his best has often 
been reaffirmed. 

"It is encouraging to the hope of a native 
drama to know that an American has written 
a play which is at the same time of decided 
poetic merit and of decided dramatic power." 
The New York Times (Charles M. Hathaway, 
Jr.). 

"The most remarkable quality of the play 
is its sustained dramatic strength. Poetically 
it is frequently of great beauty. It is also 
lofty in conception, lucid and felicitous in 
style, and the dramatic pulse throbs in every 
line." The Chicago Record-Herald. 

The Springfield Republican says: "The 
characters are drawn with force and the play- 
is dignified and powerful," and adds that if 
it does not succeed on the stage it will be "be- 
cause of its excellence." 

"Mr. Rice is one of the few present-day 
poets who have the steadiness and weight for 



a well-sustained drama." The Louisville 
Post {Margaret Anderson). 

"It has equal command of imagination, 
dramatic utterance, picturesque effectiveness 
and metrical harmony." The London {Eng- 
land) Bookman. 

T. P.'s Weekly says: "It might well stand 
the difficult test of production and will be 
welcomed by all who care for serious verse. 

The Glasgow {Scotland) Herald says: "Yo- 
landa of Cyprus is finely constructed; the 
irregular blank verse admirably adapted for 
the exigencies of intense emotion; the char- 
acters firmly drawn; and the climax serves 
the purpose of good stagecraft and poetic 
justice." 

"It is well constructed and instinct with 
dramatic power." Sydney Lee. 

"It is as readable as a novel." The Pitts- 
burg Post. 

"Here and there an almost Shakespearean 
note is struck. In makeup, arrangement, 
and poetic intensity it ranks with Stephen 
Phillips' work." The Book News Monthly. 

Net, $1.25 {postage loc.) 



CHARLES DI TOCCA 

CALE YOUNG RICE 

I TAKE ofif my hat to Mr. Rice. His 
play is full of poetry, and the pitch and 
dignity of the whole are remarkable." 
James Lane Allen. 

"It is a dramatic poem one reads with a 
heightened sense of its fine quality through- 
out. It is sincere, strong, finished and noble, 
and sustains its distinction of manner to the 
end. . . . The character of Helena is 
not unworthy of any of the great masters of 
dramatic utterance." The Chicago Tribune. * 

"The drama is one of the best of the kind 
ever written by an American author. Its 
whole tone is masterful, and it must be classed 
as one of the really literary works of the 
season." (1903). The Milwaukee Sentinel. 

"It shows a remarkable sense of dramatic 
construction as well as poetic power and 
strong characterization." James Mac Arthur, 
in Harper^s Weekly. 

" This play has many elements of perfection. 
Its plot is developed with ease and with a large 
dramatic force; its characters are drawn with 
sympathy and decision; and its thoughts 



rise to a very real beauty. By reason of it 
the writer has gained an assured place among 
playwrights who seek to give literary as well 
as dramatic worth to their plays." The 
Richmond {Va.) News-Leader. 

"The action of the play is admirably com- 
pact and coherent, and it contains tragic 
situations which will afford pleasure not only 
to the student, but to the technical reader." 
The Nation. 

"It is the most powerful, vital, and truly 
tragical drama written by an American for 
some years. There is genuine pathos, mighty 
yet never repellent passion, great sincerity 
and penetration, and great elevation and 
beauty of language." The Chicago Post. 

"Mr. Rice ranks among America's choicest 
poets on account of his power to turn music 
into words, his virility, and of the fact that he 
has something of his own to say." The Boston 
Globe. 

"The whole play breathes forth the inde- 
finable spirit of the Italian renaissance. In 
poetic style and dramatic treatment it is 
a work of art." The Baltimore Sun. 

Paper hoards. Net, $1.2 j (postage, go.) 



NIRVANA DAYS 

Poems by 

CALE YOUNG RICE 

MR. RICE has the technical cunning 
that makes up almost the entire 
equipment of many poets nowadays, 
but human nature is more to him always 
. . . and he has the feeling and imagina- 
tive sympathy without which all poetry is 
but an empty and vain thing." The London 
Bookman. 

"Mr. Rice's note is a clarion call, and of his 
two poems, 'The Strong Man to His Sires' and 
'The Young to the Old,' the former will send 
a thrill to the heart of every man who has the 
instinct of race in his blood, while the latter 
should be printed above the desk of every 
minor poet and pessimist. . . . The son- 
nets of the sequence, 'Quest and Requital,' 
have the elements of great poetry in them." 
The Glasgow {Scotland) Herald. 

"Mr. Rice's poems are singularly free from 
affectation, and he seems to have written be- 
cause of the sincere need of expressing some- 
thing that had to take art form." The Sun 
(New York). 

"The ability to write verse that scans is 
quite common. . . . But the inspired 
thought behind the lines is a different 



thing; and it is this thought untrammeled 
— • the clear vision searching into the deeps 
of human emotion — which gives the verse 
of Mr. Rice weight and potency. ... In 
the range of his metrical skill he easily stands 
with the best of living craftsmen . . . 
and we have in him ... a poet whose 
dramas and lyrics will endure." The Book 
News Monthly (A. S. Henry). 

"These poems are marked by a breadth 
of outlook, individuality and beauty of 
thought. The author reveals deep, sincere 
feeling on topics which do not readily lend 
themselves to artistic expression and which 
he makes eminently worth while." The 
Buffalo (N. Y.) Courier. 

"We get throughout the idea of a vast 
universe and of the soul merging itself in the 
infinite. . . . The great poem of the 
volume, however, is 'The Strong Man to His 
Sires.'" The Louisville Post (Margaret S. 
Anderson). 

"The poems possess much music . . . 
and even in the height of intensified feeling 
the clearness of Mr. Rice's ideas is not dimmed 
by the obscure haze that too often goes with 
the divine fire." The Boston Globe. 

Paper boards. Net, $1.25 {postage 12c.) 



DAVID 

A Poetic Drama by 

CALE YOUNG RICE 

I WAS greatly impressed with it and de- 
rived a sense of personal encouragement 
from the evidence of so fine and lofty 
a product for the stage." Richard Mansfield. 

"It is a powerful piece of dramatic por- 
traiture in which Cale Yoimg Rice has again 
demonstrated his insight and power. What 
he did before in 'Charles di Tocca' he has 
repeated and improved upon. . . . Not 
a few instances of his strength might be 
cited as of almost Shakespearean force. 
Indeed the strictly literary merit of the tragedy 
is altogether extraordinary. It is a con- 
tribution to the drama full of charm and 
power." The Chicago Tribune. 

"From the standpoint of poetry, dignity 
of conception, spiritual elevation and finish 
and beauty of line, Mr. Rice's 'David' is, 
perhaps, superior to his 'Yolanda of Cyprus,' 
but the two can scarcely be compared." 
The New York Times {Jessie B. Rittenhouse). 

" Never before has the theme received treat- 
ment in a manner so worthy of it." The 
St. Louis Globe-Democrat. 



"It needs but a word, for it has been passed 
upon and approved by critics all over the 
country." Book News Monthly. And again: 
"But few recent writers seem to have found 
the secret of dramatic blank verse; and of 
that small number, Mr. Rice is, if not first, 
at least without superior." 

"With instinctive dramatic and poetic 
power, Mr. Rice combines a knowledge of 
the exigencies of the stage." Ear per' s 
Weekly. 

"It is safe to say that were Mr. Rice an 
Englishman or a Frenchman, his reputation 
as his country's most distinquished poetic 
dramatist would have been assured by a 
more universal sign of recognition. The 
Baltimore News {writing of all Mr. Rice's 
plays). 



Net, $1.2 j (postage 12c.) 



SONG-SURF 

(Being the Lyrics of Plays and Lyrics) by 

CALE YOUNG PRICE 

MR. RICE'S work betrays wide sym- 
pathies with nature and life, and a 
welcome originality of sentiment and 
metrical harmony." Sydney Lee. 

"In his lyrics Mr. Rice's imagination works 
most successfully. He is an optimist — and 
in these days an optimist is irresistible — 
and he can touch delicately things too holy 
for a rough or violent pathos." The London 
Star {James Douglas). 

''Mr. Rice's highest gift is essentially 
lyrical. His lyrics have a charm and grace 
of melody distinctively their own." The 
London Bookman. 

"Mr. Rice is keenly responsive to the 
loveliness of the outside world, and he re- 
veals this beauty in words that sing them- 
selves." The Boston Transcript. 

"Mr. Rice's work is everywhere marked 
by true imaginative power and elevation of 
feeling." The Scotsman. 

"Mr. Rice's work would seem to rank with 
the best of our American poets of to-day." 
The Atlanta Constitution. 



"Mr. Rice's poems are touched with the 
magic of the muse. They have inspiration, 
grace and true lyric quality." The Book 
News Monthly. 

"Mr. Rice's poetry as a whole is both 
strongly and delicately spiritual. Many of 
these lyrics have the true romantic mystery 
and charm. ... To write thus is no 
indifferent matter. It indicates not only long 
work but long brooding on the beauty and 
mystery of life." The Louisville Post. 

" Mr. Rice is indisputably one of the greatest 
poets who have lived in America. . . . 
And some of these (earlier) poems are truly 
beautiful. The Times-Union (Albany, N. Y.) 



Net, $1.25 {postage 12c.) 



25 i^tl 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



FEB 2a ^9»^ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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